


Catnip

by Adren, bloodamber



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Art, Attempt at Humor, Collaboration, Eventual Loki/Tony Stark, Fanart, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Frostiron Minibang 2019, Humor, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Lokitty, M/M, Tony Stark Has A Heart, slight angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-02-10 11:45:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18659779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adren/pseuds/Adren, https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodamber/pseuds/bloodamber
Summary: Loki is imprisoned in Asgard after the battle in New York and attempts to break out. On Midgard, Tony is struggling with PTSD and invents a machine to attack the most powerful magic users in the realm. Their worlds collide in the form of an old sorceress, a pissed off Thor, and an extremely faulty magic attacking machine.





	1. Escapee

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! Me and the amazing Bloodamber teamed up to create this fic for the Frostiron Minibang on Discord. It was real fun doing this, and I would definitely want to do it again! *hugs*

The streets of New York, lined with debris and lifeless corpses, hung with an unusual quietude that only came with after gruesome war. Clothed in a smartly tailored suit and luxurious jeans, Tony silently walked down the dust-coated road, revolted at his surroundings. Corpses lined the walkway, emergency medical personnel zipping their lifeless bodies in black insipid body bags. Men and women weeped for their deceased children, their heart-wrenching cries ringing in Tony’s ears as he forced himself to walk past their pleas for help.

But something, standing out amongst the grey of the cracked cement and the red and blue of the flashing sirens, caught his eye.

A boy, laying in the middle of the street. He was curled up with his legs bent, fresh blood still streaming down from a huge wound that cut through his abdomen all the way to the back of his jeans. The grisly remains of his insides were visible to the naked eye, sickening to the stomach with a single glance.

But what was really nauseating to Tony was the object clutched in his hands, still the focus of the boy’s attention even at death.

An Iron Man figurine, striking amongst the mangled body that held it so dear.

Whoever this boy was, he had obviously been a fan of him. The legendary Iron Man, the unstoppable legend that flew miles up in the sky and destroyed villains with one blast from his repulsors.

So much so that a mere figurine of him was the single most important thing of his life, more so than the cuts on his face and the blood lost from his scars.

Tony felt sick to his heart. He was supposed to be Earth’s hero, part of a revered team unstoppable against even the toughest monsters. But he wasn’t a hero. He’d destroyed so many lives with the inventions that he created, killing thousands just for the sake of a couple more zeroes in his bank account. And even when he tried to change and save the people instead of endangering them, he still brought havoc to their lives.

How many had he killed?

How much red was on his ledger?

He fell to his knees, desperate to escape the guilt that plagued his mind. He’d do anything to redeem his past crimes, to prove to himself and the world that he was worthy of the title “hero”. Anything.

Anything at all.

Tony woke in a cold sweat, eyes alert and breath shaky. The once silky sheets now stuck to his legs, clammy from his distraught perspiration. To his right, the sun was a mere line across the sky, softly tinting the clouds a rosy pink.

He thought of the dream he’d just had. It had been barely six weeks since the battle of New York, or whatever name the media liked to term it. But the city was still suspended in calamity, horrors from the aftermath of war. More news of death were broadcasted every time Tony switched on the television; sadness and grief were present nearly everywhere he went.

Some blamed the Chitauri, for swarming their planet and causing mass destruction. Most blamed Loki, for being the source of the whole problem. But Tony blamed himself. He didn’t work well with others, that he knew. And that trait of his shone through and through during the battle. Even if he’d been the one to shove that missile up the Chitauris’ ass. 

Nightmares like this one no longer came as a surprise to him at this point. He’d been having them ever since his miles-high fall from the portal in the sky, some far worse than this one.

But this was the final straw. He couldn’t keep on letting civilians die because of him. Because if he didn’t, then he was no better than people like Obadiah or Ivan Vanko. He needed to do something to change that, to wipe the red off his ledger that had been there for so, so long.

“Jarvis?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Set up the workshop for me. I’m coming there now.” And as an afterthought, Tony added, “Oh, and open a new project file in the database for me, Jarv.” 

“What would you like to entitle the project as, sir?”

Tony grinned slightly in anticipation. He had just the perfect name. “Project Snape’s Stooges.”

 

* * *

 

Loki was stuck. Infuriatingly, irrefutably, stuck in this hellish prison that Odin the one-eyed git had threw him in.   

He’d tried everything. And he meant _everything._ He’d tried starting a rebellion amongst the prisoners. He’d tried convincing the guards that he just needed to use the restrooms upstairs for a second. He’d even gone to the extent of conjuring up soft toys to bribe the kids of the officials that came down here to mock him. All of which, sadly enough, had failed.

He slumped back against the whitewashed walls that made up his prison, eyes glancing at the guards with just enough wariness to be alert of their movement. There was nothing he could do to get himself out of this place.

But he’d already been here for what he gauged was a little over a month. Which meant that with all his genius and tricks, he’d spent a whole month unsuccessfully attempting to escape. And if he didn’t, he’d be stuck here for centuries more to come. Who knew how long _that_ would be.

He had but one clue, the very beginnings of the beginning of a plan. During the initial days of his arrival, he’d discovered an anomaly, a flaw in the security system that allowed him to use his magic for a limited period of time. Such opportunities came few and far between, and so Loki had been hinging on the hope that the flaw would occur once more.

He’d made the calculations over and over, in his head and on the bare wall his head currently rested against. The dried blood that he had used as a writing utensil stuck to his jaw in small flakes. In his defense, he hadn’t been given anything to write with, and, well..modern problems required modern solutions. He could bear the pain, definitely. The now-numb bruises that traced down his abdomen were testimony to that fact.

And if he was right, which in his blood-loss-induced delusional state he fervently hoped that he was, the next blackout in the system would occur tomorrow.

He could hardly wait.

 

* * *

 

Loki woke before dawn - the rustle of cloth and the muttered exchange of words that signified a change in the guard’s shift told him as such. He had not slept well the previous night. Not that it came as a surprise, but awaking to a quickened pulse and jittery nerves was certainly not in his best interest as of the moment.

He spent the hours practising: deft, quick slashes of a hand that betrayed the true power they held had his magic been within him to enforce them; stretches of the back and arms that cracked sickeningly in several places that they shouldn’t have. Such laborious tasks were unnecessary, but they very well could mean the difference between his survival and death.

The guards didn’t notice. If they did, they pretended not to care very much. For not more than a single cursory glance was directed at him throughout the remaining time, and that was when he had accidentally reopened a wound on his elbow and blood had stained the floor again. Either way, Loki didn’t care much. It only meant more janitor work from them later on.

Then it happened. A subtle nuance of idyllic freedom, from his restraints that straitjacketed him in this insipid cell. Miniscule though it was, to Loki it felt like a torrent of rejuvenation, a blast of energy that rendered him dizzy with anticipation. He blinked, feeling his heart pounding with twice the strength as before.

He made sure to remain exactly where he was, moving not even a single muscle for fear that the guards would notice the change in him. No, indeed, for the chance of escape was so precious that mere efforts such as these paled in comparison to the freedom that he would finally get in exchange.

Because once he escaped, no one would be able to find him. He’d long ago perfected his trade-so skilled he was in magic that not even the likes of Odin or even Heimdall could rival his capability. The power of the Bifrost was no longer a problem to him. Over the decades, he had perfected the cloaking spell that he had learnt as a child, adding layer upon layer to its potency until the once all-seeing iridescent bridge had no effect on him. 

He let his magic flow through him, relishing the precious tendrils of energy that coursed through his veins until he felt, in his soul, that his full strength had returned.

His movement was instantaneous. One punch from a fist aglow with green energy smashed the six-inch walls of his cell; two slashes of a conjured uru blade sliced through the necks of the guards that never saw it coming. Shouts echoed throughout the walls, alerting the rest of the guards of his escape.

Ymir’s balls, that meant that they’d shut his magic down any minute now… He could feel his heart constricting in the fear of continuing to be trapped in this cage, to be a helpless prisoner of the corrupted system that was Asgard.

He banged his fist against the wall in rage. Why, oh why hadn’t he thought of this flaw in his plan? He was supposed to be the trickster of the realms, the most devious of minds, but he couldn’t even construct a simple plan of escape? What a blithering idiot he was.

Metal clanged against the floor. Guards flooded the corridor, rushing to be the first to capture the traitor prince of Asgard. And so he fought.

He was relying on muscle memory now. In his veins, he could sense his magic seeping away, leaving his malnourished bones and meagre strength to defend his now-weak body. Fists clenched, he slit throats and cut through skin, fighting for a chance to continue living.

But he knew it was hopeless, however skilled of a fighter he was. He lacked the brawn and raw strength that Thor and the Warriors Three possessed in infinite quantities, and his only weapon of defense was his magic. Without it, he was as good as defenceless against the rapidly amassing guards that kept on coming. 

A sickening crack sounded behind him. In his mangled senses Loki realised it was his back slamming into the wall. Panicked eyes frantically scanned his surroundings for anything that could help him, but found none but bloodshed and cold, callous faces waiting for his demise.

Slash. A guard fell to the ground, quickly trampled by the others until he was out of Loki’s sight. Crunch. His boots crushed a skull belonging to a body he didn’t know the name of. Bang. Gunshots sounded around the corner, shot from lethal weapons that signalled his sure doom.

And just as quick as that, it was over. Coarse ropes bound his arms to his back; dozens of sentries held him at spear point  while he thrashed wildly amongst the jeering prisoners that had been spectators to his escape attempt.

So close, yet so far. Loki forced himself to ignore them, instead glaring at the golden doors mere feet away from him that was the route of escape he’d meant to take. 

And vanished from the world.

 

* * *

 

“Project Snape’s Stooges, Day 8.” Tony spoke into the camera, then left it to record at the far end of his lab.

So far, he’d made some substantial progress with his plan. At first, it only consisted of a momentary impulse to get down there and invent something to cease the suffering in the world, but now it had developed into else entirely.

Because Tony, after five hours in the workshop, a six-pack of beer and four cups of coffee, had made the revelation that Loki couldn’t possibly be the only magic user. That there had to be others out there, others that could potentially be way more of a threat than Loki was.

Which meant that they could very well come to Earth one day, with the intention of doing a Loki and taking over the world. And Tony definitely had to stop that from happening.

So he’d ignored Jarvis’ motherhenning and Pepper’s concerned messages, and got down to build the most badass, planet-shattering magic nullifier ever.

And after eight days of gruelling, nearly consecutive work, Tony had pretty much got what he wanted. At least, he thought he did.

It was a contraption of magnificence, in Tony’s opinion. It stood at six feet tall-regrettably taller than himself-and was made entirely out of synthesised vibranium, which had taken Tony four days to create, only because Steve the dunderhead had been very ignorant of his mission and refused to lend him his shield to examine. 

In its core lay a miniaturised version of the arc reactor, made of the very element that had saved his life that year when he was dying of palladium poisoning. He’d wanted to patent it as “badassium”, but apparently according to those fussy lawyers down in the legal department it wasn’t going to happen.

“Jarvis, make sure the cameras are recording.” What was a badass invention without some badass footage to accompany it, right?

“Already done, sir.”

“Alright.” Tony set down his mug of coffee, and walked over to his invention. This was the big moment. His chance to really make a difference for the world.

“Shall I begin the countdown, sir?” Jarvis asked from the overhead speakers.

He placed one hand on the lever that would start the nullifier. “Yeah. You do that.”

“3, 2, 1…”

Tony activated the machine.

Two seconds later, the room filled with a deafening ‘poof’, somewhat dainty and not at all what a competent invention should sound like. It reminded Tony of his days watching “The Care Bears”.

Mist started gathering around the room, condensing into a shape a few metres in front of his magic nullifier. Which probably wasn’t good, because it pointed towards two possible scenarios: one, his machine had alerted the magic user it was detecting and said magic user was now in his workshop to stop that; or two, his machine had malfunctioned, and had brought said magic user _here_ instead.

In Tony’s opinion, both scenarios didn’t have a very good outlook.

But his worries were quickly replaced by another, because the mist had cleared and in its place was a… cat.

A kitten, to be exact.

What in the world?

“No no no,” Tony mumbled. “You bastard machine. I asked you to detect powerful  magic, not bring it to Earth!”

The kitten only purred in response.

“And you didn’t even do that properly, either. Does this look like a sorcerer to you?” Tony was hacked off. He’d gone through the calculations, like, thrice, which meant that they usually had a definite certainty of working.

“Just my luck today, I guess.” Tony ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Jarvis, shut down the workshop. I need some coffee and a break before I deal with this mess.”

He glared at the machine. In all of its uncultured glory, it glared back. Tony sighed. And realised, just as he was heading towards the door, that he couldn’t leave the kitten behind.

“What a wonderful day this is turning out to be.”

He picked the kitten up in his arms, and turned around to go back up to his penthouse.

“Jarvis, lights.”

“Done, sir.”

Loki woke up on a floor. The world seemed out of place, as if everything had grown to be disproportionately huge. The lights, too, seemed much too glaring, piercing through his sight. Speaking of sight… his field of vision had grown drastically smaller. He could only see endless cement tiles in front of him, hindered only by a huge blob of mass that stood in front of him.

Evidently, this was not his prison on the Land of Royal Pain.

His first thought was that he was in Jotunheim, the Realm of Giants, which would explain how everything seemed so big to him. But that was quickly crossed out. This place contained far too much heat to even come close. 

He was on another planet, that much he was certain of. There were other realms where giants resided, he knew. But why would the giants want anything to do with him? And the cardinal question: how had they even managed to create his abduction? The giants were not an advanced race in intelligence as far as his knowledge told him. 

He tried to stand up, but his legs felt like they’d been mutilated and forcefully reattached at the wrong places. Which wasn’t a _really_ good indication of what had happened to him.

He felt...warm. Warmer than how he usually was, and certainly warmer than his Jotun form.

He also felt like a belly rub. Why did he feel like a belly rub?

By the Norns, what was wrong with him?

He could hear a creature talking. Even at the miniscule height that he was at, his senses seemed to have been drastically heightened, identifying the voice as human. Midgardian.

The Earthling appeared to be shouting at something, namely the huge blob of mass that he now realised was a machine. Fascinating. For although Midgard was but a primitive realm, this particular piece of technology seemed to be radically more advanced than what Loki had expected humans to be able to create.

Which could only mean one thing.

Fresh in his memory was the encounter between him and the ragtag band of Midgardians who called themselves the Avengers. And amongst them, Loki knew only one human who could possibly have the capability of creating such technology.

And that person was Stark.

Loki let out a cry of surprise. Why would he, of all people, have the wish to summon him to his realm?

Then he became cognizant of the fact that said cry of surprise hadn’t at all sounded like his regular voice. It sounded distinctly like… a _kitten’s_. 

Ymir’s balls, he had turned into a _cat_.

The human turned around to walk off, muttering something to someone he couldn’t see. Indeed, it was Stark. Loki could recognise that infuriating little meddler’s voice from a world away.

Somewhere above him, a voice sounded in an accent not dissimilar to his own. Stark, the imbecile that he was, returned and swept him up with one arm, chuckling lightly at his displeased response even though dissatisfaction was evident on his face.

Oh, the irony. Stark obviously had no idea of his true identity, and had mistaken him for a regular Midgardian cat instead.

And he had no way of turning back. Clearly, Stark had been meddling in business that wasn’t his, and that contraption of his must have had something to do with his sudden transformation. Whatever said machine was, it had interfered with his magic flow, because as of now he was utterly helpless. Weak. The energy that once gave him limitless power had now been crippled to nothing, rendering him effectively a house pet.

He was _not_ a house pet. Neither did he enjoy being one.

* * *

 

Art by [Bloodamber](https://bloodamber.tumblr.com/post/184571979110/wip-tony-with-his-lokitty-some-art-for-the)

 


	2. Not Today, Satan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll reaaally try and stick to weekly updates. No promises. :3 *glares at procrastinating self*

It was nearly dark outside, the setting sun filtering through the translucent glass panels as soft rays of dark yellow. Tony was spread on the couch with his Starkpad on his lap, typing away furiously at a screen. A mug of steaming coffee sat on a nearby table, every so often lifted from its resting place to provide some meagre semblance of nutrition for its owner-Tony couldn’t _really_ be bothered to make food or order takeout. He’d deal with Cap’s sure-to-come lecture later.

If you didn’t happen to notice the black cat perched atop the furthest seat possible, glaring at everything in sight, then perhaps it might even have seemed normal. Tony was, frankly, slightly panicky. It had been only an hour since the cat had appeared, and all it’d done was leer at him and give the occasional disapproving hiss.

The cat didn’t have a collar, much less a name tag or address to return it to. And Tony couldn’t exactly run facial recognition on a kitten. Believe it or not, he’d tried to for a solid ten minutes, but gave up the endeavour once the results turned up nothing but old bald men with bad facial hair and a cranky disposition. So in a half hearted spirit, he’d searched up the nearest pet shelter to see if he could drop it off there.

But now, as he glanced up at it, he really didn’t have the heart to.

See, it was a _beautiful_ cat. It wasn’t one of those bony furless felines that looked like it’d been mummified twice over, which in Tony’s books was already a huge plus point. It had piercing emerald eyes that sat a little above its snout, which was adorably button-shaped and currently sniffing the air like it could smell him radiating human stink. Sleek black fur enveloped its thin frame, down to the sharp claws that looked like they could kill. Tony was sure that it’d probably attracted heaps of swooning female cats before this, ready to do the kitty hookup any time of the day.

A cat like that had probably cost its owner a small fortune to own, and definitely much more than that to take care of. Meaning, it was used to a sheltered, pampered life of cushioned beds and top-notch cat food. So if he just sent it away to some crabby old pet shelter down the street, Tony was willing to bet that it wouldn’t last two weeks suffering from being unable to adjust properly. He knew how that felt, certainly. Afghanistan hadn’t exactly left a great impact on him.

Plus, having a pet seemed like it could be fun. Tony knew Cap would definitely be ecstatic, for one. The guy had always been a right softie. And with Steve’s approval, the rest wouldn’t be able to stop him even if they tried.

Tony finished the last of his coffee. “So I think I’ve decided.” Of course, the cat couldn’t understand him. But he’d developed a habit of talking to inanimate objects ever since he was a child, and it still applied to animals, right?

The cat perked its ears up, and leaped over onto the table beside Tony in seconds. If he wasn’t sober, he would’ve sworn that it had stuck its tongue out.

“I’m keeping you here with me. I mean, I was gonna send you to a pet shelter, but I figured you would probably catch some terminal disease down there.” Tony laid the Starkpad down. “Cause you look like a pompous stuck-up. To be fair, that makes the both of us. I’ve had my fair share of being rich kid on the block, too.”

It glared at him, and then slowly, deliberately, knocked his mug of coffee over.

“I swear, you did that on purpose.” Tony leaned over and shoved its paw gently. “Smug little bastard. You’re lucky that’s mug’s empty, or you’d really be giving me a hard time cleaning it up later.” He might as well just do it himself, while he was giving himself a break. The cleaners would already definitely not appreciate having to clean up tufts of fur and cat poop, so some compensation was surely due.

“We’ll have to give you a name, you know,” Tony called behind his shoulder as he walked over to the kitchen to grab a dustpan. “But I think that can probably wait until the team gets here later.”

He walked back, dustpan in hand. “You’ll love them. Cap adores pets, so he’ll keep you entertained, a lot. Jury’s out on the rest, though. I mean, I know Thor has a big ol’ soft spot for dogs, but you’re a kitten. He’s not coming for dinner, though. Last I saw him was a couple days ago.”

Tony winced as he saw the actuality of the mess on the floor. “Okay, I might have to put you on the couch when we have dinner. You make even more mess than Thor and pop tarts combined.”

Taking care to not anger the feline that he now knew was pretty darn aggressive, he lifted the feline up under its arms and placed it on the recliner next to him, far away from the remnants of what was once his favourite mug. It was _vintage_ , one of the exclusive Avengers merchandise mugs that had Hulk in his tighty whities imprinted on it. He swept up the fragments into the pan, and dunked the whole thing in the trash. The cat had followed him to the trash can, sniffing it with varying degrees of disgust.

“Please don’t tell me you’re one of those cats that steals food out of the trash. That would be terrible.” It wrinkled its nose in response, then stalked off with its tail held high.

Pompous little bastard, alright.

 

* * *

 

Loki had been trembling even as he walked away from Stark, trying his best to appear as though he was fine. If he exposed himself as not alright and ruined the good mood, Stark might suspect that something was wrong with him. Or worse, throw him out on the streets.

He needed to appear normal. Without his power that surfaced in his godly form, the only weapon he had was his brains. And brains wouldn’t get him anywhere if he was suffering from starvation and hypothermia out in the freezing cold. No, what he needed was a temporary place to bide his time, to wait it out until he found a solution to his current predicament.

But he’d barely been here for an hour and already things had gone wrong. He’d knocked over Stark’s mug, for starters, and now the mortal had informed him that he’d be attending dinner with all his _other_ enemies.

Loki’s main concern wasn’t being caught. No, he trusted his capability enough to know that he could get himself out of nearly any situation. What he was afraid of was not gaining his former self back.

Because without his glamour, magic or his spells, suffering from bodily torture wouldn’t be his main concern anymore. For once dead, his soul would certainly end up in Helheim, the realm of the dead - he knew that no being in the universe would have such a high regard of him to place his soul in Valhalla.

And the ruler of Helheim was Hela.

As far as Loki could resurface his memory, Hela was the daughter of Odin. Loyal and valiant were often what the historical books told of her, depicting her as a faithful warrior that was Odin’s conqueror of the realms.

Loki’s spine tingled. If he ever fell into her hands, only the Norns knew what might occur.

But his primary concern now was to avoid any sort of havoc during this dinner. He’d have to find a way to research the behaviour of felines, although from what he knew they did tend to be a tad eccentric. Which would certainly be of use if he failed to act like how a kitten might.

Keeping his senses alert as they could be, he traipsed down corridors and roamed into rooms, looking for one very specific object in mind. Stark had been holding a transparent tablet in his hands when he was laying on the couch. Evidently, it was the key to obtaining any sort of useful information if he was to keep up said pretence. He knew how to get back there, of course. But the man had not been there, and neither had the tablet.

Then, on a kitchen counter, he saw a hint of metal glinting in the corner, beside yet another mug of coffee. Loki was willing to bet that Stark had gotten distracted and left it behind. Which was fortunate for him, because it meant that the man wouldn’t be around to see him research on cats.

But the Norns were not on his side today, for even as he leaped up onto the counter, he could see that the tablet appeared to be locked with some form of combination code. Loki grimaced, and tried to hazard a guess, but only succeeded in batting the screen with his now fluffy paws. 

He glared at them. Why did cats have to have such an infuriating anatomy? A snarl escaped his mouth, teeth baring at the tablet that was the only obstacle between him and information.

Just then, a laugh sounded to his right, quickly turning into a guffaw. 

The exasperating human was back. He’d have to try again another day.

He turned to snarl at Stark as well, but the human strode over and picked up his tablet. It unlocked immediately. Evidently, the tablet’s security went way past simple numerical coding. His heart sunk. He had little knowledge of technology - Asgard primarily functioned on brawn and magic. He’d never be able to obtain the information he needed.

“You know, when Jarvis told me that my stuff was being tampered with, I thought it might be SHIELD or Clint trying to hack my stuff again.” The human sounded extremely amused, only adding to his temper. “Never did I expect to see you.”

Stark leaned over the kitchen counter to pet his head. Loki immediately ducked out of the way, repulsed at the attempt at contact.

“Okay, then. I guess you’re not the cuddly type of cat, are you?” The mortal flicked his fingers and a window came up. “Look, here’s you, but fluffier.” He pointed to an image on the top right of the tablet.

Loki was slightly confused. He hadn’t expected the human to be searching up his species. Stalker.

“And here’s another type of cat. The article says… exotic shorthair. Wonder what that is.” Tony zoomed in on the image, scanning the information listed beside it. “Apparently, they don’t require daily grooming or anything.”

He held the tablet up next to Loki. _Now_ he was really bewildered.

“Hmm. You’ve got pretty much the same length of fur. I guess I won’t need to groom you or anything.” The mortal grinned wickedly. “Plus, Steve will probably be super hyped to be your personal caretaker. You don’t know who Steve is, do you? Captain America, really ripped, patriot til death. Bit of a stickler for morality, really. You’ll meet him later during dinner.”

Stark checked his tablet. “Which should be any minute, really. Cap always shows up early, probably because he’s a punctual little prick.” 

Loki’s fur stood up on end. It seemed that the day could only get worse.

  


* * *

  


Dinner was pretty fun, by Tony’s standards. Cap made beef pastrami, which turned out to be Bruce’s favourite dish. Thor didn’t show, but Clint made up for it by practically _swallowing_ the Chinese takeout that Tony had ordered from the local shop downtown. The highlight of the meal, was, of course, when Tony introduced his newfound pet.

“So, guys, I got a cat.” He’d announced it between mouthfuls of chicken noodles, not bothering to wipe the sauce that was already dripping down his chin.

Everyone just gaped at him. Then Clint, the bastard that he was, started hooting with laughter.

“Tony, you’re shitting me, right? It’ll be dead in weeks!” Now that was just _impolite_ _._ He could take care of his pet perfectly fine, no thank you _very much._

“Are you sure you can handle a cat, Tony? You might forget to feed it.” Steve was austere as usual, though a small smile tugged  at the corners of his mouth.

“Do I seem like a five-year old kid to you?” He spread his arms innocently. The rest just stared back, Natasha looking somewhere between murderous and excited. Evidently, they did in fact think him a child. Heck, even his kitten who’d been perched atop the table was hissing at him. Tony was willing to bet that it was sniggering at his incapability of being a good owner.

“Come on, Stevie, it’ll be fun! I know you like cats, so you can remind me when I need to feed it, right?” Tony faux grinned. “Plus, Jarvis is morally obliged to set daily reminders for me, aren’t you Jarv, honey?”

“Indeed, sir. I have integrated reminders for grooming, bathing and feeding into your weekly schedule should you choose to ever look at it.”

Rude. Was everyone picking on him today?

“Don’t you sass me, Jarvis. I follow my schedules sometimes, you know.”

“Of course you do, sir.” And if that didn’t prove his point exactly.

Steve, as he’d predicted, then got suitably excited about the kitten, who’d been stealing chunks of meat off of Tony’s plate only to scurry away and gobble it down in solitude.

“If you _are_ going to own it, Tony, you should come up with a name for it.”

“Mhm. What d’ you guys think we should call it?” Tony pointed his fork, which still had pieces of chicken stuck on it at Bruce. “C’mon, Bruce, shoot me ideas.” 

Bruce looked slightly bewildered. “I don’t know…something that describes it? Those are the most common names.” 

Peasant.

“I don’t do common, Bruce. Don’t you know that by now?”

Steve then started a whole discussion about ethical pet names, which was frankly pretty mind-numbingly boring. Clint suggested that Tony named it Lucifur, and gave him a suggestive wink, which was quickly cut off after Natasha whacked him over the head with her spoon. Evidently, she didn't appreciate the pun at all. 

His cat, the pompous ass that it was, stood perched haughtily like it knew that they were talking about him. Occasionally, it would swivel its head around to glare at Tony, like it was all his fault that it’d been forced to eat Steve’s pastrami.

They ended up actually naming it Lucifur, which earned both Clint and Tony death glares from Natasha. The cat, however, looked pretty pleased with its new name, purring satisfiedly when they decided on it. Tony was willing to bet that their senses of humour were aligned. To hell with what Natasha thought of his pet. Tony liked the pun and that was that.

After dinner, however, things took a turn for the worse. Tony had tried to bring him over to the couch where they all were lounging watching the latest season of Game of Thrones, but Lucifur refused to cooperate entirely. Frustrated, he’d laid down a trail of tuna in the hopes that he would be lured in, but to no avail. On the bright side, however, Clint _had_ slipped on a piece of tuna while on the way to get more pistachio ice cream, which was good because a) Clint falling was _always_ a good thing and b) Tony hated pistachio ice cream. They’d come to a disagreement on that issue, which still remained unresolved, so Tony was gleeful to see it spilt all over the floor.

Tony had initially wanted to go back and continue watching the show, mostly because there was a very hot smouldering piece of Daenerys Targaryen’s posterior being displayed on screen, but he decided to take the good parent route and go check on Lucifur. He knew being in a new place couldn’t be great for anyone, felines included - he’d spent the first three weeks back from Afghanistan practically holed up in his lab, working on projects that he’d never had the drive to previously, if only to avoid the rest of society up there.

The cat was not in his room. Neither was it in the kitchen, living room nor balcony. Tony had checked all of them. Frustrated, he turned to Jarvis, who informed him that Lucifur was currently outside his workshop.

Deciding that the infuriating ding of the elevator as it slowly climbed up the thirty floors to reach his was way too annoying for his tastes, Tony took the stairs two at a time down the three floors to his workshop. He knew that the cat couldn’t possibly have had broken in, but a part of him nagged at the worry that Lucifur might have had injured himself. After all, it _had_ been a whole twenty minutes.

Instead, Tony found it curled up in a ball just by the glass doors, seemingly asleep. One might even think that everything seemed at peace. But of course, the scratch marks on the door handle and the minuscule puddle of vomit nearby made themselves very visible to Tony.

Instinctively, his parent mode kicked in. Time to show that Tony could be a responsible, caring person sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D


	3. First Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone has issues, including these two floofy idiots! :3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! Celebrate! 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: See end notes :)

The scanner on the security panel by the door identified his iris as his, and the doors swung open to his lab. Thankfully, the kitten was yet to be awake, so Tony didn’t have to worry about it getting hurt in his workshop. God knows there were a lot of messy things down there.

DUM-E was sent on cleanup duty, ie mopping up the vomit puddle that Lucifur had created. And then Tony made the realisation that he hadn’t got any kitten beds or blankets for him. Which meant that Lucifur would have to either sleep in his bed, or on the floor.

Tony was aghast. Kitten fur, in his bed? What if Lucifur scratched his neck off of his head while he was asleep? Or if he woke up allergic to fur?

More importantly, could he take having someone else other than himself in his bed again? 

After his escape from Afghanistan, Tony had tried his best to maintain celibate. As in, he refrained from initiating any sexual contact whatsoever. Sure, he kept up the playboy facade and went to the occasional club or two to make sure his reputation wasn’t lost, but he never brought anyone back to his home anymore. He’d become somewhat of an enigma to the strippers in the clubs that he frequented; they often tried to incite lust in him through various indecent and meretricious methods. But not once had they succeeded. Tony had simply lost interest in being the person that he once was.

See, the notorious reputation was important. It was his false identity, his shield to hide behind from the callous truths of the world. It was his way of getting back at Steve Rogers the pimp. It was many things, but it existed solely as a facade to Tony. He couldn’t bring himself to go to bed with anyone anymore, not when the very thought of the action made him retch with disgust.

And now there was Lucifur. A kitten he may be, but Tony didn’t know if he would be able to take have another presence in his sheets nonetheless.

But he couldn’t just leave him on the cold floor to freeze, no. That would be torture, and essentially no different from abandoning it on the streets. Even if he swathed him in blankets and pillows, Tony wasn’t sure how warm it would be to it, especially with the cold temperatures of the air conditioning.

So he had to make a choice. To be selfish, or to be a good parent. Tony knew he couldn’t choose the former. It would only cause Lucifur to hate him, and he definitely didn’t want any more of that in his life. 

“Okay, Lucifur. You’re coming with me.” Tony gently picked him up, cradling him in his arms like he would a baby. The kitten in mention half-heartedly yawned, then crawled sluggishly up to perch on his shoulder in an attempt to escape his embrace. Tony let it be. The feel of its breath on his neck was rather comforting, anyhow, in spite of the usually loathsome contact. 

They walked languidly up the stairs, Tony slightly tense with fear that he might lose his grasp of Lucifur. The cat was adorably tiny, and had only the lightest of grips on his shirt because he was asleep.  

Reaching his room, Tony nudged the door ajar with his foot and trudged inside. He gently set Lucifur down on the very top of his crisply folded silk blankets, leaving it softly purring in its half-asleep state, then ambled to his lavish bathroom, tugging off his shirt in the process. He really needed a shower.

* * *

 

Loki blearily blinked open his eyes, taking a few moments for his brain to readjust to the uncomfortable sight range of his new form. Then blinked a couple more times, more out of shock than fatigue. 

For standing barely a few metres away, obliviously sauntering into what was presumably his bathroom was the mortal Stark, with only the barest of undergarments left on his body. The name suited him, Loki thought with faint abhorrence. Did the mortal not have any decency? 

He quickly averted his eyes, resting his furry chin on his paws. The sight of the man had unsettled him. Although Frigga, with what good remained in her heart, had ordered the guards to strictly leave him alone, Loki had been in Asgardian prison long enough to know what went on in the other cells adjacent to his. He’d often been forced to endure revolting sights of men having their clothes forcefully ripped off their shoulders only to be raped; he’d seen prisoners left to bleed out after getting their faces punched in by the merciless guards. The men who were stationed to the prison were often displeased with their placement, and took it out on the prisoners in any and every way they wanted.

And the worst thing was, he hadn’t been able to do anything about it. 

But that wasn’t the only reason why Loki was trying to avoid contact with the man. During dinner, he’d managed to successfully avoid the other Avengers. But he’d forgotten that he was presently in the form of a feline, and had much difficulty digesting the food that he’d eaten without prior consideration as to its nutritional content. 

Which was why when Stark had found him lying on the ground, a puddle of vomit by his side, Loki had been too weak to protest. He’d been attempting to get into the mortal’s lab, a fruitless endeavour in the end in truth because the security not only required a retinal scan but also explicit access given by a voice embedded into the wall. According to what it had told him, its birth was orchestrated by Stark, who had christened it Jarvis. The name sounded odd on his tongue, dissimilar as it was to the other more common names that belonged to Midgard. Loki wondered if there was a story to it. 

Thank the Norns, his body seemed to have better adjusted to its feline form by now. At the very least, his stomach had stopped lurching from the nutrients that his new digestive system had rejected. It didn’t matter much if he slept on an empty stomach for a night. He’d once gone a full twelve days without food or water in his cell. That day, one of the prisoners, a particularly bulky figure seemingly of giant origin, had punched the guard who’d been torturing him ever since he got there in the face. Broke his nose, too. Unfortunately for the prisoner, the rest of the guards had ganged up together to take revenge. In the end, he got his spine mutilated by a spear and thrown to the rats, whereas the rest of them got a whole two weeks of starvation, him included even thought he was supposed to be under Frigga’s protection. Loki winced slightly at the very thought of the incident.

He burrowed further into the covers, a childish attempt to escape his worries. His bones ached still from the unexpected transformation. Apart from the brief moments during his escape attempt, Loki hadn’t been able to use his magic for just over a month now. Though a mere blip in the vast life span of his, Loki knew that maintaining the level of skill that he possessed required constant practice and training. So shapeshifter though he was, the sudden change of form, especially one that had nullified his magic in the process, had been painstakingly tiring for him. As of now, all he wished to do was to fall asleep. 

Some minutes passed, and under the warm embrace of the covers Loki heard the muted shuffle of feet and the gentle closing of a door. It meant that Stark had exited his shower. 

A light chuckle sounded from above, then Loki felt himself being lifted up and placed down somewhere else. The man was saying something, something about how they would have to share a bed for the night while the voice in the walls delivered his own. Something about how Stark himself didn’t much care for another presence in his bed nowadays, about how the invasion - _his_ invasion - had affected him in ways that Loki couldn’t bear to hear.

Something deep down inside his heart slowly, gradually stiffened, cracking with some unknown pressure that Loki couldn’t identify. He wasn’t really sure he wanted to either.

But the thought persisted in his head, that maybe this mortal Stark wouldn’t be so bad after all. And with that troubling notion in his mind, Loki slowly drifted off to sleep, too tired from not having his magic to help him adjust to his new form. His consciousness told him that he _should_ be worried, for Stark was the enemy, and the enemy couldn’t be trusted, because _the enemy_ would inevitably kill him……

* * *

 

Tony woke up to the sunlight filtering in through the blinds, filling the room with disconcerting brightness. A sleepy word to Jarvis soon solved the problem, so Tony slumped back on his bed, half-asleep still even though Jarvis had informed him that it was just past noon. 

A quick glance to the side told him that true enough, Lucifur was still sleeping. Tony made a mental note to ask Bruce to check him over for any health issues. Who knows, teleportation from wherever he had previously been might have had some side effect on him. 

Today was a big day for Tony. He needed to get onto fixing his machine, or who knew what havoc that green-and-gold Snape might continue to wreak on the realms. And of course, there was also the fact that if he didn’t get around to fixing it, who knew what kind of being he might snatch from its home the next time he activated it. 

He took a sip out of the coffee that Dum-E had made him, which turned out to be a bad idea because Dum-E had added in milk powder instead of proper milk, so he set the mug down on his bedside table and threatened Dum-E with sending it to the recycling bin.

He stretched languidly, and sleepily trudged to the closet to put on some clothes, as he did every morning. Tony had a habit of sleeping in the barest of garments - it got pretty hot and sticky otherwise. Plus, there was no avenue for him to be shy if there wasn’t anyone around to see his body, was there? 

Then he realised that he _was, in fact,_ fully clothed. From head to toe, in fact. Although the socks might have been a little bit of an over-do.

“So that’s why it’s so freaking hot in here,” Tony muttered. Last night, he’d gone to bed in full-out pyjamas, for fear that he might not be able to withstand another presence in his sheets. Lucifur, for his part, had been completely fine with it, dozing off somewhat immediately after Tony had came out of the shower. Or maybe that was just the drowsiness being a side effect of magic transportation. He really needed to check.

Tony, however, had taken a full hour before he could finally get to sleep. Which, retrospectively, actually wasn’t as bad as he thought it might be. The last time he’d convinced himself to try and take someone back home, he’d had a full-blown panic attack and spent the night hunched over his workshop bench making upgrades to his stealth suit, unsuccessfully trying to lower his racing heart rate. 

Needless to say, the woman that had previously been so eager to do the dirty with him had left nearly immediately. Which really _hurt,_ because it reminded Tony that no one really ever consented to sleep with him out of genuine attraction. They all came, spent the night and then left, phones busy texting away their experience to numerous shady media companies. All for the money that would then arrive in their pockets. Quid pro quo, they said. A night of fun for a lifetime of obscene, vile articles.

Pepper, thank the gods, had prevented her from leaking anything about his emotional instability to the media. But that night had taught Tony a lesson: that celibacy was probably the best route for him from then on.

See, Tony had suffered all kinds of things during his time in Afghanistan.  He’d had his head dunked under water, endured savage hits to his genitals, even forced to swallow filthy mixtures that he had no doubt had urine in them. And the similarities between that and intercourse were just too great for Tony to bear. He didn’t even go swimming anymore, or drink cocktails before he had JARVIS analyse the ingredients within.

But as it turned out, a kitten was still okay in Tony’s subconscious. Sure, he’d spent some time trying to ignore the fact that he wasn’t alone, but his brain had thankfully supplied him with the information that _you dolt, it’s a kitten. How much damage can it do?_

Not to mention that Lucifur must have been pretty terrified too. _I mean, he_ is _probably the first ever kitten to suffer through teleportation. Poor him. Probably why he puked on the floor, too._ The thought had strengthened his resolve to conquer his fear. Because if a kitten could do it, then surely the genius billionaire Tony Stark could as well.

And so he’d successfully spent the night not alone, for the first time in months. Because of a kitten.

“You really are something special, aren’t you?” Tony reached over and gently placed a hand on Lucifur’s furry back, lightly petting his glossy coat. Lucifur, the haughty demon it was, then made it apparent that contact was a complete nuh-uh for him and batted Tony’s hand away with its sharp claws. Not a morning person, apparently.

“Yeah, well, good morning to you too, Lucifur.” Tony smiled despite the visible scratch that now resided on his pinky finger. This cat looked like it could be fun.

He got up, ambling to the door. “You coming for breakfast?”

 

* * *

 

As it turned out, breakfast was a pleasant ordeal. Lucifur had, when his back was turned, taken a sip out of his coffee, which naturally was a terrible choice. It spluttered for a solid five seconds, then spit it out on the table counter. Dum-E even almost looked guilty.

In the end, Tony had settled for sharing his cereal with Lucifur, pouring out a separate bowl of Cheerios for him while JARVIS gave him a boring lecture on what foods cats could and couldn’t eat. Tony had listened with one ear closed, then went back to seeing how much chocolate syrup he could pour into his bowl without it tasting disgusting. Lucifur merely sniffed it once, glared at Tony, then resumed his devouring of Cheerios.

In the afternoon, the cat stuff that JARVIS had ordered on his behalf finally arrived. Tony was shocked at the sheer amount of items that had flooded his living room. Boxes upon boxes of everything that a cat might possibly ever use were stacked on the floor by delivery men, who seemed pretty surprised that Tony would ever want such things: litter boxes, cat trees, even a scratching post that Tony was pretty sure cost more that it was worth.

“Jesus,” breathed Tony. He looked down at Lucifur. “You better be worth all this clutter, okay?” 

Lucifur, staying true to his character, had promptly chewed the front end off of his fluffy slippers. And smiled innocently up at him.

“Brat.” Tony made the decision to create a pair of impenetrable slippers. See how he liked it the next time he touched his footwear. 

Half an hour later, Tony had made the decision of giving up. He really didn’t have the patience to sort out all of these things. 

So he’d scooped Lucifur up into his arms, albeit with some protest, and called Happy to get his Porsche ready. He made a couple more calls, these ones to professional interior designers and movers. They could deal with the mess in his living room while he and Lucifur had some fun outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Implied/Referenced Torture. Fairly mild, but read at your own risk! :D


	4. Ambivalence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! :) Longer chapter than usual to compensate for the late update. Been flooded with work recently and exams are coming up for me, so update timings will fluctuate :( Love you beans! 
> 
> Slight warning: see end notes.

Since Tony was a genius and had an intellect superior to all others, he’d come up with the genius idea of going to a theme park. Since Tony _also_ was a billionaire with funds enough to buy the Hannah Montana franchise, he’d paid the owner a hundred thousand dollars for them to get VIP access until midnight, even though the park supposedly closed at nine.

According to JARVIS's estimations, the movers should take about two working days to completely finish arranging all the cat furniture and stuff perfectly, so Tony figured that he could crash with Lucifur overnight, take some time off of his work to bond with his new cat. Part of the new turning over a new leaf plan, y'know. Tony really wanted this, to show that he could be a better person without being a physical liability to Pepper and Rhodey, to show that he went into Afghanistan a cocky playboy but came out an entirely new person.

Sure, the media wouldn't have that conception of him. But that didn't matter. Because Tony would. Before, all he'd been trying to do was prove himself to his father. Now, with so many people in his life, Tony realised that he'd be much better off proving his worth to himself.

But no matter. They were there to have fun, and Tony would make sure of it. Especially since he'd paid all that moola to the greedy park manager, too. The guy had practically snatched up the cheque when Tony had produced it from his jeans pocket - he had a miniscule machine woven into the fabric capable of 3D printing, photocopying and printing scanned documents. It made for some really good magic tricks back at the tower, especially that one time when Tony had waved the passcode to SHIELD's underground safe in front of Fury. Clint had laughed his ass off after he had left.

Tony had brought Lucifur on his private jet with him, which the stewardess unsurprisingly only reacted to with a quirk of her eyebrow. Unsurprising, probably because Lucifur wasn't even amongst the top ten weirdest things that Tony had brought on a plane.

"Sir, I must remind you again that Project Snape's Stooges has not been touched by you since yesterday. You have never neglected your projects for more than five hours after its failure, which makes it a significant anomaly in my data. Would you like me to reprogram your daily schedules?" JARVIS's robot voice sounded in his ear.

Tony rolled his eyes at the reminder, even though he felt a slight surprise inside. He had been planning to work on his magic sensory machine, he knew. But it was okay. Maybe for once, he could prioritise something else over his machines and robots.

"It's good, J. I'll get back to my work soon enough." Tony didn't quite know why, but he no longer felt as strong an urge to rush down to his work anymore.

_Perhaps - perhaps I've found genuine happiness here as well._

Tony quickly dismissed the thought. Emotions were not something he was good at thinking about.

"Hey, Lucifur, you cold?" The feline was currently sitting on the seat adjacent to his, eyes alert and wary. His tail was kinda droopy, and his back muscles tense, which he even without the studying he had done yesterday knew could not be a good sign.

So he took off his coat, a burgundy woolen one equipped with what was proclaimed to be the most comfortable padding, and wrapped it around Lucifur. The cat immediately jerked back, pawed at the pockets of the coat, then relaxed as he realised the coat wasn't an enemy. Tony chuckled under his breath. Cats were so weird sometimes.

"Hey, chill, little dude. It's just in case you get cold. Wouldn't want you catching hypothermia." If cats could catch hypothermia, that was. Tony really needed to do more reading.

The pilot made an announcement a few minutes later, telling them that there were still twenty minutes before they reached their destination. Which was Disneyland, California. Tony had only ever been there the one time, back in the 1980s when his dad had finally given in to his pleas for a reward for his straight 100 percents in all his tests. Unfortunately, the day had been ruined when Howard Stark decided that his work was far more important than spending the day with his only son. Tony had been left to his own devices, again, to roam around the park with a lone balloon in his hand and only the unfamiliar faces of bodyguards he didn't know the names of to protect him.

Safe to say, it had not been one of Tony's better days.

But hey, second time's a charm, right? This time, he was going there with his suit, his technology, and Lucifur, his very obnoxious pet feline. Tony was actually looking forward to it.

They were going to have a great time, Tony knew.

* * *

 

Loki had been surprised when Tony had brought him on what the Midgardians called an aeroplane. He'd been even more surprised when Tony had given him his outer clothing for warmth, which Loki didn't actually need thanks to the endurance that came naturally from his Jotun blood.

But what had really been the straw on the camel's back was the moment when he saw their destination.

Even from afar, from the comfort of Stark's luxury car, Loki could see the wondrous place that was their destination. He recognised it from previous clandestine ventures onto Midgard, but had never really been to one before. Memory told him that this mystical haven was called Disneyland, and that it served as an adventure area of sorts to the children and mortals who had the means to visit it.

"We're staying the night here, Lucifur. You like it?" Was what the mortal had said when he'd glanced curiously back at him, interest piqued by this sudden turn of events.

Stark...had been planning on taking him to an adventure park. To have fun.

The realisation hit, _hard_. Loki had never really had the chance to experience the enjoyable side of life, always shunned when he expressed a longing to partake in the celebrations on the streets or the sales at the marketplace. Odin had expressed extreme disgust at his longings, saying that they served only the purpose of ruining the royal family's image.

And now for perhaps the first time in centuries, he was being given the freedom to enjoy himself by a mere mortal. The irony was not lost on Loki.

He wanted to look down upon the mortal, to peg him as an ant to be squashed under his boot as his father had so often taught them, but something inside him didn't let him do so.

_Sentiment_ , he had said that day. Sentiment was the bringer of calamity to his carefully constructed facade, and he couldn't let himself indulge in it. No, the last time he had done anything out of sentiment, nearly the whole of Jotunheim had been eradicated and Midgard's cities turn to shreds. So he had to force himself to conform, to present himself as the prince that he should be - obedient and bloodthirsty and above all, believing in the hierarchy of realms.

Odín had always taught them to fight for Asgard’s victory. To establish their power amongst other realms, and have the mortals bow to the might of Asgard, the golden haven of eternal strength. Thor had obeyed dutifully, unleashing havoc and carnage upon the realms Odín had deemed as weak. Niflheim, Muspelheim, Vanaheim, and so many more realms that Thor had struck his hammer upon.

But when Loki tried, just out of a fool's desire to please Odin, and took down Midgard, Thor just _had_ to interfere with his plans and coming rushing in to save it. All because the woman he thought pretty lived upon its lands. Naturally, Odin and the rest Asgard assumed that he was to blame, and threw him in prison without so much as a fleeting thought as to if he truly was guilty of attacking a land under Thor's protection.

All of that would no longer matter now. Odin was dead, fallen to the lure of the Odinsleep, and Thor would make a foolish king. Brazen, ignorant, foolhardy. The attributes most felicitous in the eyes of the Asgardians. Loki would seek refuge somewhere else, wait it out and watch in delight as Thor burned the lands all to the ground.

Just as soon as he got out of this predicament that he was currently in, that was.

Loki shook himself out of his thoughts, mind back in the reality of the present. They had had a rather pleasant time, by all of his standards. Which in truth were rather low, seeing as he'd never really ever had what could be called "a pleasant time". It was far better than the thrill of casting spells and flipping ancient tomes, if those counted as proper entertainment.

He had expected a flurry of people to be waiting at the gates, or in the theme park. Paparazzi was to be expected, naturally. Even from his limited knowledge Loki knew that Stark was a famous and wealthy man on Midgard. And true enough to his predictions, there had been floods of people crowding the gates, although they did not seem to be paying any special attention to Stark. In fact, the more Loki had looked around, the more he became aware that there were zero paparazzi around. No media reporters, no newspaper publishers, no one person who looked like they were there for any other reason than to have fun.

_Stark must've had paid the owner of the establishment a noticeable sum to ensure that their visit went unnoticed_ , Loki had thought. Which was rather...good-natured of him, he supposed.

And as the day went on, Loki's opinion of the mortal had gradually changed, too. Stark had waved away the manager as soon as they had walked through the gates, who made a rather incessant and pathetic attempt at getting him to fund the park permanently. Loki had even been accommodating and threw in a delightful hiss.

They'd walked around the park, queuing up for rides that Loki fancied. He would leap off his perch on the mortal's shoulder and saunter towards the queue, which Stark then bypassed with a wave of his ticket. Loki assumed it was some kind of waiver, most likely given to them by the grovelling manager. He especially delighted in lording it over the tourists that were forced to queue for hours, whereas Stark was given his own private section for all the rides. And evidently, so did the mortal, judging by the sarcastic waves that he gave to the queue as they ambled past.

They went on a couple of what Loki found out were called roller coasters. Even though the speed that they went was pitiful compared to how fast Loki could fly with his seidr, the wind was far more exhilarating as it snapped past his tiny stature. Normally, the seats weren't equipped to properly accommodate a being of his size, but Stark had merely strapped on a creation of his own, pulled out of his pocket. He had jokingly termed it a "booster seat", something unfamiliar in Loki's vocabulary. He would have to do research on it when he morphed back into his regular self.

The rides were often accompanied with some sort of storyline, where the rides jerked to a stop or lurched forward according to the progress of the plot. Before, Loki would have had scorned the plot for its foolish attempt at fiction, but as he looked around with eyes anew, he didn't feel as strong a need to as he might have had. Added to the fact that it would have had proven nothing to no one, he felt it a wise decision to simply enjoy the ride for the emotions that they were meant to convey.

They had taken a short reprieve from the extreme side of activities, and roamed around until Stark had chosen to ride the merry-go-round. The mortal, ignorantly witty as ever, had laughed at the caricatures that were the platform seats, namely the one that bore a laughable resemblance to Loki. He had scratched Stark in the arm with his claws, hard enough to leave a mark for days. Infuriatingly enough, the man had simply grinned and patted him on his head.

Nevertheless, the carousel had been rather enjoyable aside from that, despite the cliched blaring circus music that played repetitively in the background. Loki had snarled at that, which earned a promise from Stark to bribe the manager to play rock music.

Loki had even smiled at that joke. Which, in retrospect, was an extremely rare occurrence.

Now, they were sharing dinner at one of the more elegant restaurants in the establishment. According to Stark, they were to spend the night in the top-notch resort centred in the middle of the park, courtesy of the manager whom he had paid a hundred thousand dollars to.

Loki didn't really know how to feel about Stark now. In barely just two days, the mortal had completely revolutionised his opinion of him, and more importantly, his perspective of the world. He didn't know why, or how, but he intrigued Loki. The man was a unique one, from his upbringing to his character to every action that he made.

And there was something about his behaviour, too. Even in such a short time, Loki had noticed a definite difference in Stark's attitude from when he was surrounded by people and when he was alone. Perhaps it was a matter of coincidence, since Loki had in actuality only been around the mortal for two times that he'd encountered someone else, but his centuries of interpreting characteristics and actions led him to be inclined towards the former.

Perhaps it was the way that Stark never made contact with the American captain. Or how he had flinched slightly when the archer, Barton, had slapped his chest jokingly. Maybe it was neither, but he himself had had enough experiences to know that Stark was most likely holding up a facade around the people he felt ostracised by. Again, the irony was inexplicably blatant.

If - _when_ \- he escaped this place, he would find a way to repay Stark's gratitude. It was the least he could do before Thor got over his Lady Jane and decided that Midgard sounded like a good place to invade.

"I've called your name twice now, you know. And you haven't even glanced my way." The mortal in question snarked, wolfing down part of a chicken leg. "And here I thought you were a smart cat."

Loki had a dozen scathing comebacks _but_ no way to communicate them, so he simply bared his teeth menacingly. Or, at least, as menacing as a kitten could look.

They finished their dinner in comfortable solitude, Loki eating off of Stark's plate. The mortal didn't seem to mind, _no_ , he even spurred Loki on, pretending to have his back turned when he stole bits of chicken breast slices from the completely coincidental pieces that Stark had cut out for himself.

After that, they walked the distance back to the hotel that the establishment's manager had given them a suite to. Loki kept his distance, trotting in front and occasionally beside the man languidly. He made sure to let Stark steer him in the right direction, allowing him to briefly pick him up when they reached busy streets or when they encountered a junction. Loki had the map memorised five hours ago, but he thought that a cat successfully navigating its own way through a several-acre wide adventure park might be stretching the boundaries of the average feline's capabilities.

Just as they were reaching the gates that led to the resort, Stark was stopped by a woman, smartly dressed for someone who couldn't be any less than forty mortal years. Her dark skin stood out under the illumination of the streetlights, her face just visible.

_Look, it is yet another fan of the famous Iron Man_ , Loki thought. _Perhaps this will be quick, then I might get the chance to explore the hotel and formulate a plan for my eventual escape._

"Are you Tony Stark?" The woman asked casually, extending a hand for him to shake. "The acclaimed Iron Man?"

Stark smiled genuinely, and willingly shook her hand. "I am. Do you want an autograph? A photo, maybe, or just a conversation?"

The woman did not respond, deigning to only glare at him. And then slapped him with all her might.

It was truly the most _hurtful_  of slaps. It was as if she had amounted years of rage, pent-up in her mind, and let it out on Stark all in one go.

Loki thought back to the day before, when Stark had been talking to himself just before he'd drifted off to sleep. He'd spoken of some tragedy, and how he felt responsible for the deaths that he had caused in thousands. How _New York_ only made him feel like his past wrongs could never be compensated for. In a way, Loki empathised with him.

There he went again. Sympathising with his enemy. Odin would have had been hacked off about that one. When Thor did it, it was seen as extending Asgardian relations, but when Loki did it, it was taken to be him scheming to rule Midgard. He could do no right under Odin's eyes, because he was not of their blood.

When Stark turned back around, Loki could see red, throbbing marks on his cheek and jaw. He winced on his behalf, knowing the kind of pain that it would incur throughout the next day.

"That was for killing my son, you cold-blooded murderer." The woman spat out, words shooting shards of hurt and hate through Loki's mind. It wasn't directed at him, but he knew it applied all the same.

He ignored the emotions toying with his senses. Feelings were for the weak, and the weak were not allowed to show hurt unless they wished to be alienated. Thor, as always, had been exempt from this rule, but then again he was exempt from essentially all the laws that bound any regular citizen of Asgard, so Loki didn't much factor that into his emotions.

Stark, for his part, looked equally as torn apart as Loki, if not more. His usually easygoing expression had been replaced by one of pain, an expression that he knew far too well himself. He pressed his hand to the wound that the woman had inflicted upon him, tender in its power and wrath.

The woman, with vengeance in her eyes, said again: "My son was a good man, you _bastard_. Served in the army for six years, until the weapons that you created were fired into the base camp. They never _even_ saw it coming."

"I'm - I'm _sorry_ , I really am-" Stark's words were cut off by another slap to the face.

And another. And another, _and another, and another_.

Stark stood there and let her, hands rigid by his sides. The woman was becoming increasingly hysterical, screaming for the world to help her destroy the man that had murdered her only son. Loki wanted to ignore it, to _not hear_ the sharp whiplash of her hand on skin, _or see_ the crimson welts forming on his jaw.

But yet he leaped from Stark's shoulder, and frenziedly clawed at the woman's face, razor-sharp talons leaving tears in her dress and lines down her outstretched arm. He didn't know why he was doing it, _protecting_ the man from harm, but...but he couldn't bring himself to watch the mortal suffer any longer.

The woman shrieked, and threw Loki on the ground in her delusion. It _hurt_ , but he imagined not as much as the pain that Stark was feeling.

She left, storming off wordlessly into the dimly lit night. The onlookers who had been stopping to watch resumed their journey, the scene safe in their minds and camera rolls, soon to be handed over to the rage of social media and news reports.

Stark simply stood there, unmoving, his hand still in midair. It wasn't until minutes later that he noticed Loki still crouching on the ground, and went over to shakily pick him up.

They stayed in silence all the way through the check-in and the elevator ride and the walk to their suite, the porter looking at the red, visible imprint on Stark's cheek, thinking that neither of them would notice. When they entered the bedroom, the man didn't comment on the elaborate furniture or the specially prepared feline plush bed, instead heading straight to the bathroom, shutting the door so _silently_ only Loki's keen sense could pick it up.

He didn't follow him. Neither did he try to comfort Stark after he came out. Loki watched as he listlessly brushed his teeth and hung up his towel, then sat on the edge of his bed, his movements eerily listless and mechanical, with no enthusiasm put into them.

_But what has Stark done to deserve this treatment?_ Loki thought. _He is truly an enigma. A mystery, one that has piqued my interest to uncover._

_When we leave this place, I will find out why._

_I swear it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Veeery veeery light Thor bashing, if it even counts as that. And also, uh, angst. :D
> 
> Kudos and comments spur my writing, I promise!

**Author's Note:**

> Here’s [bloodamber’s](https://bloodamber.tumblr.com/)amazeballs artwork! An updated version will be posted in the coming chapters so :3  
> https://bloodamber.tumblr.com/post/184571979110/wip-tony-with-his-lokitty-some-art-for-the


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